


Something's Gotta Give

by thepreciousthing



Category: Ben 10 Series, Mighty Max
Genre: Gen, major character nonexistence, multiple dead virgils, overcooked chicken
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8350732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepreciousthing/pseuds/thepreciousthing
Summary: Desperate to relieve himself of the burden of being the Mighty One, Mighty Max accidentally erases something crucial from history. (Not a crossover in the truest sense of the word, but featuring a guest appearance from a Ben 10 Character!)





	

**Author's Note:**

> So THIS is the beginning of a much larger series of fics I'm planning. While not a crossover in the truest sense of the word, I am borrowing a character from Ben 10 for this story. If I get as far as making more sequels, you'll see him again :)
> 
> But before I get any of that done, I needed to get this out to set the stage and set the themes. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> This story has SPOILERS for the series finale of Mighty Max, if you've never watched it, so be careful!

To say the staff adorned by the Crystal of Souls was hot to the trouch would be a massive understatement. Max could feel the power coursing through him as he held his grip tight; The burn raced up his arms, rumbling through his body and leaving pins and needles in its wake before he could even register the pain. There was no ground anymore, no up or down, only movement as Max squeezed his hands tighter around the staff, wrestling for control over the forces he could barely even understand.

"You can't save the world!" He heard Skullmaster snarl over the roar of the wind rushing around them.

Rage, grief, and desperation fueled Max's words against pain and exhastion. "I can die trying!"

And he would die, he was certain. He'd screwed up so badly. He needed to stop Skullmaster, save Virgil and Norman. That's all he wanted. If he could just try again, if he could just do it over once more -!

Max awoke with a start, staring at his ceiling, the pressing silence of his room confusing him for reasons he couldn't explain. Sensations were swiftly fading from his thoughts, the last bits of his dream fluttering away like leaves in the wind. Cold, but burning. Pain and weightlessness. He'd been... sad about something?

When had he fallen asleep?

Max turned to face the scaly little distraction who'd woken him from his dream. Nightmare? There was a lingering anxiety somewhere in his gut. Maybe it had been a nightmare. Still, it was long gone now. "Hey. Miss me, Thor?" He reached up, letting the iguana scurry into his open palms for warmth and cuddles.

There was a knock at the door, followed by the mechanical buzz of Max's custom built alarm. The sound must have startled him - that nervous fluttering in his gut grew stronger, and he could feel his heart pounding as he made his way to the window to call down to the visitor.

"Leave it outside, please," he called to the delivery boy before heading downstairs. His heart was pounding as he made his way down the stairs, so much that he could hear the rush of his pulse in his ears. What the heck had gotten into him? Was he getting sick? Maybe it was something he ate. What had he eaten for lunch? He couldn't remember. It felt like it happened so long ago.

He brought the package in, and with it a sense of impending dread. His hands were shaking as he opened the package. As he looked inside and laid eyes on the statuette, something clicked.

"Wait a second," Max muttered, holding the statue in his hands. Virgil. Norman. The Cap. Skullmaster.

Stonehenge...

"This is déjà vu all over again!" He looked closer checking the inscription once more against his book on hieroglyphics. "You have been chosen to be the Capbrearer... go to the mini-mart and wait for a sign... Mighty Max." Could this really be happening? He swallowed, inspecting the statue further, heart hammering in his chest as he found a new inscription.

"And this time... don't take quite so long!" Max felt tears brimming in his eyes as he read those words, all the anxiety and anticipation giving way to excitement and wonder. He's alive! Virgil's alive, Norman must be, too, right? If he hasn't gotten the Cap yet, then - then _everyone is alive!_

"Hah!" Max cried triumphantly, "All right, Virgil!"

With that, he threw the statue to the ground, letting it shatter to reveal the Cap. This time - this time he'd get it right. This time, Skullmaster was going down.

* * *

The icy wind cut and bit at Max's skin, a perfect compliment to the cold, dead weight of despair sitting in his stomach and the chill of dread running through his veins. The only warmth he had left now were the tears running down his face and the corpse of Virgil at his feet.

Max couldn't find words. He couldn't find _thoughts._ There was only emptiness and grief and guilt, and no coherent way to process them. How could this happen? How could this happen _again?_ After he'd been so careful...

Skullmaster approached with slow, calculating steps. Max heard but didn't listen as the sorcerer gloated. He simply looked up, eyes filled with rage, as he charged at Skullmaster with no plan and no weapons, just blind hope as he managed to get his fingers around the staff and feel that awful burn once again.

Someting had to give. Something had to change. Third time's the charm, right?

Third time for... what?

Max stared at the ceiling, trying to remember what he'd just been thinking about before Thor tickled him with his tongue. He turned his head, smiling at the iguana and reaching up to offer a foothold. "Hey, Thor. You miss me?"

There was a knock at the door.

* * *

Virgil hadn't been pleased with Max's request, but aided him with it regardless. With the help of him and Norman, Max spent his downtime that year stockpiling weapons and ammunition that might be useful against a powerful magic wielder, storing them in Virgil and Norman's mountainside home. Max discovered with dismay he simply wasn't big enough to handle an AK-47, but there were some smaller explosives and firearms he could carry around in his pockets and his backpack. On the day he turned twelve for the third time, he'd be _ready_.

He thought he'd be ready.

Skullmaster had spent a considerable amount of power chasing Max down this time around. He'd still lost Norman. And by the time fate brought him to Stonehenge, he had no ammo left. Just himself, his destiny, and Skullmaster's wicked grin as he aimed the Crystal toward Virgil.

Max snapped back to awareness staring at the ceiling. He started crying and he didn't know why.

* * *

Max had lost count how many times he'd turned twelve by now. Whatever number it was, it wasn't enough to desensitize him to the grief of losing Virgil and Norman again. And again, and again, and again.

Skullmaster had incinerated Virgil this time, leaving Max a pile of ash to grieve over. Max stared at it, his fresh tears falling into the pile. Somewhere out of sight the sorcerer gave a wicked, gutteral laugh, his crown glimmering in the breaking dawn.

"You know, _Mighty One_ ," Skullmaster mused, playing with the title on his lips like a delightful toy, "five thousand years I waited in the Underworld for freedom. Five thousand years of hellish fire in lieu of sunlight, air of sulfur and seas of only stone and lava."

Max pulled his gaze from the pile of ash, slowly looking up to meet Skullmaster's gaze, his own eyes filled with a cold fury.

Skullmaster met his gaze with a cruel smile. "So you must understand, _Max_ , that to me, this continually repeated year is naught but a mild inconvenience." He rolled the staff in his fingers, idly spinning the Crystal of Souls. It glimmered, but its light was tainted and sickly. "I've long since learned patience. After five millennia, I've no qualms waiting a little bit longer for my victory."

He took a step forward. Max didn't move.

"But you? You must be getting so tired, Max. So resentful. I wonder how long _you_ can hold out." Another low chuckle. "Here's an idea. Perhaps this time, once the Cap is nestled safely on your head, ignore that fool Virgil. Come straight to _me._ Surely you know the way by now."

Max remained still.

"Bring me the Cap, and we can end your suffering as quickly and painlessly as possible. Who knows, perhaps I'll be in a good enough mood to spare your guardian and teacher, when they inevitably come to find me." With that, Skullmaster simply extended his arms, both hands firmly grasped around the staff as the sun rose over the horizon and cast its light across Stonehenge. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

Finally, Max rose to his feet, his steps heavy but determined as he moved forward. He reached up, grasping the staff just as Skullmaster lit up with power.

"Nice speech," Max finally spat. "I bet you practiced that in front of a mirror for days."

Skullmaster laughed again. "Still a bit of bite, I see. Perhaps after a few hundred more rounds, you'll start to see things my way."

Max felt himself flooded with power once more, the forces of the universe at this command, met only with the grief and desperation in his heart. He knew, consciously, that he had to reset again. He had to start over, to wake up again staring at the ceiling with Thor tickling him awake.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, with the command to reset, was the deep longing to not be a part of this anymore.

The Universe heard, and it obeyed.

* * *

"Hellooo? Package delivery?"

Max's limbs were heavy and numb, like someone had replaced his muscles with sandbags. Even his senses were dulled; It was a moment before Max recognized that muffled, distant noise as a voice - and another moment before he realized its significance.

"Luhhhvnn..." _Leave it outside, please,_ he wanted to cry, but his body wouldn't respond. Waking up was a slow, torturous process, like clawing his way out of a cold, foam prison. Every inch of his skin prickled as he tried to roll over and barely managed a shrug.

"Hello? Anyone here?"

"Guhhn." _Just a second_. After an agonizing struggle, Max managed to wrestle back control of his fingers. Feeling slowly crept back up his arm as he flexed his hand. It was still sweeping over the rest of his body when he managed to roll over and push himself up from the bare bedroom floor.

He reached up, fingers fumbling for support on the doorframe as he pulled himself to his feet. A cold knot of dread tightened in his stomach as his gaze swept the empty bedroom. Distantly, Max knew _something_ was wrong but his thoughts were too hazy and disjointed to connect the dots.

"Uh, hello? Anyone in there?"

The delivery guy. With the package. With the statue...

_...the Cap!_

Max gripped the doorframe tighter, stumbling through the open door and clumsily making his way down the stairs. "'M'in here," he called, barely managing to get his mouth around the words as he clutched the railing.

The knot in his stomach grew tighter and heavier as he made his way toward the front door, dread hanging his gut like a dead weight as his awareness cleared little by little.

The front door opened and the delivery man poked his head in. It took only one glance around before his expression darkened. "Aw, man, _seriously?"_ He groaned and started to turn away, still cradling the package, not even bothering to close the door. Max's eyes widened.

 _"Hey!"_ Max's awareness was coming back now, and with it a sense of urgency to retrieve the Cap. Muscles finally starting to respond properly, he darted after the delivery boy - why was he even leaving? This had never happened before, had it?

He slipped out the door and easily outpaced the courier, placing himself firmly between him and the truck. "Listen, buddy, if you want to get your tip, you might wanna try - hey, stop!"

The delivery boy completely ignored Max's words and presence, looking right through him as he headed for the truck. Max winced, bracing himself for impact, but the delivery boy walked right through him. Literally right through - as if he were nothing more than a gust of wind.

Max stood frozen for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. A prickly chill lingered in his limbs, but he finally found the strength of will to turn and chase the delivery boy again. "Hey! Wait!"

As he got back in his truck Max made a grab for the boy. Again, his hands passed right through him - and through the truck. Desperately, Max reached for the package. He could feel the slightest bit of warmth at the power hidden within, but it too was out of reach.

The delivery boy drove away with both the package and the Cap, leaving Max standing in the road. He stared after the truck in shock and horror. He'd... he'd missed it. He'd missed getting the Cap. How? How could this happen? Why couldn't the guy see him or hear him?

Max turned, looking back toward his house. His eyes fell on a FOR SALE sign planted firmly in the yard.

"What the hell?"

Max darted back inside, looking around at the inside of his house - completely dark and empty, with a thick layer of dust on every surface.

Panic gripped him. He ran to every room, every closet, every corner, desperately calling out.

"Mom? Hello? Mom? Thor? _Anyone?"_ His voice echoed off polished wood and drywall, making the house feel even more empty, making him feel even more lost and alone. Tears brimmed at his eyes as the reality of the situation started to set in. "Mom? Virgil? Norman? Someone!"

No Cap. No mom, no Norman and Virgil, no _home._

Max found his way back to his room. There wasn't a trace of anyone living in it. No bed, no dresser, no candy wrappers, nothing. Shaking, he leaned against the wall, his heavy breaths threatening to give way to sobs as he sank to the floor.

"I don't understand. What's happening?" He swallowed down the lump in his throat, failing to choke back his sobs and the tears brimming at his eyes. Someone in his mind, he supposed Norman and Virgil would _eventually_ notice Max didn't arrive and come to investigate. But how long would that take? How long before they got here? What was he supposed to do in the meantime? "Somebody, help me. What's happening? Please, someone, just... _help me!"_

"You called?"

Max jumped back to his feet, staring across the room to discover he was no longer alone. He wiped at his eyes quickly and tried to regain composure. Across the way was a tall and slender gentleman, his outfit stuck somewhere between lab coat and military frock. He was older and clean-shaven, with short, tight curls of black hair peppered with gray, but had a gentle smile on his face that gave him an ageless quality. Max blinked in surprise, still trying to clear the last few sobs from his throat with deep breaths.

Seemingly sensing Max's confusion, the stranger spoke again. "You called for someone, and I am indeed someone. Of course, my apologies if you meant a specific Someone in the more..." he paused to think, " _Odyssean_ sense of the word." His accent was clearly British, with the gentleness of a southern drawl and a playful, lighthearted tone.

He approached Max, walking forward with a cane that he didn't appear to actually need. When he stopped, still a comfortable distance away, Max found the will to speak.

"You... weren't there just a second ago. How did you get in?"

"I walked!"

Okay, fine, sure. He walked. Why not? Nothing else made sense today. "You can see me."

"Indeed I can, for which I'm grateful. I wasn't sure _what_ I was going to find - or if would even find you at all. You see, I've been looking everywhere and every _when_ for you." He stopped, glancing around the room, stroking his chin in thought. "Though I suppose logically, this would have been the best place to start, wouldn't it?"

The conversation was... not quite going over Max's head, but he certainly didn't feel like he had proper context. "You were looking for me? Who are you? What's going on?"

"Ah, yes. Well, you see, normally - that is, following the natural course of time, barring any interference - you and I are supposed to meet shortly after you turn twelve." He chuckled. "But imagine my surprise when the big day comes and..."

The smile melted away from his face, and his town turned suddenly somber. "...I'm sorry, Max. I'd hoped to lighten the revelation a bit by saying it more casually, but it doesn't seem right."

The abrupt change in tone struck Max like a slap in the face, the possibilities of the situation starting to sink in. "Am I dead?"

The stranger frowned, idly tapping the handle of his cane. "Well, strictly speaking..."

"Oh, come on," Max groaned. "It's a yes or no question. How complicated can the answer be?"

At that, a small smile tugged at the edge of the man's lips. "Are you currently in possession of a beating heart? No."

Max felt his heart - well, maybe not his heart, after all. But there was a sinking sensation, despair pooling somewhere in the core of his being.

" _-But!"_ The man raised a finger. "Death isn't quite the word. Not in any traditional sense, at least." He sighed, leaning on his cane as he sat down on the wood floor. "Sit down, Max. There are some things I must explain to you."

Max followed suit, noticing he couldn't quite feel the texture or the temperature of the wood beneath him as he did so. "Who are you?"

"I have... many titles and many names. More than I care to count or remember. But for the purposes of our relationship, Paradox will do just fine."

He smiled and offered a hand in greeting, one covered by what looked like a metal gauntlet. Max reached forward and took the offered handshake. Paradox's grip was remarkably light for such a frightening looking piece of armor.

"Paradox," Max echoed, recognizing the word, piecing it together with some of the other strange things he'd said. "Are you...some kind of time traveler?"

With a chuckle, Paradox responded, "Very astute."

"You're not exactly subtle about it." Max couldn't help but smile, but it wavered. "So what's going on? What's happened?"

"The question is more..." Paradox paused, looking thoughtful, "what _didn't_ happen. The answer being you."

Max frowned, not quite understanding.

"I haven't researched it thoroughly, mind you. Still, from what I gather, the circumstances leading to your conception and birth were all in place, but for some reason or another it simply didn't take. You see, Max, presently... you don't exist. You never have."

The meaning of the words were clear, but the concept didn't sink in immediately. Max was silent for a moment. He didn't exist? He wasn't even _born?_ The idea seemed ridiculous - of course he existed. He was here _talking_ , wasn't he? Descartes already cleared up tht problem a long time ago.

Still... other things weighed heavy on Max's thoughts. Passing right through the delivery boy. The empty home, the For Sale sign... they all had to mean something, right? But _non-existance?_

Max rubbed the back of his neck, gazing at the floor as he sorted out his thoughts before finally meeting Paradox's gaze once more. "I... don't suppose you're just pulling my leg, are you?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Yeah," Max's voice cracked, and he swallowed down a lump in his throat. "I was afraid of that."


End file.
